Assemble
by dragonartist5
Summary: A collection of one-shots following the Avengers through that missing year. (Post AoU)
1. Visions of the Mind

It is a common occurrence: Waking to find Sam struggling with a pancake batter bomb. It is in his hair, on the walls, dripping off the countertops. The pan that holds bacon, very burnt by now, is smoking slightly.

"Good morning" he calls, cheerfully.

I walk forward, taking the spatula from his hand, suppressing a laugh.

The smoke detector goes off, sending the shrill alarm echoing around the place.

"Shit." Sam curses under his breath, wiping his hand on his unbuttoned bathrobe, flustered after another failed attempt at breakfast.

Steve comes rushing in, hair rumpled, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "What's going on?" He says, but his words are smeared with a yawn. "Sam's sixteenth failed cooking attempt." I tell him, moving to grab a handful of paper towels.

"Someone turn the stove off." He says. Sam rushes to take care of the bacon as Steve waves a hand towel in front of the detector, managing to make it shut up.

Nat pads down the hall in a sweatshirt, taking in the scene.

"Sam, maybe it's better to let Steve handle the cooking." She says, helping me wipe the batter off the countertops.

Steve gets coffee on the table for all of us. I insist on helping him. Luckily, there's another bottle of pre-made batter in the pantry. I busy myself making the pancakes. Sam and Nat settle at the table. She makes a few, halfhearted digs at his skills, or lack thereof, in the kitchen, but doesn't push it.

The pancakes are ready in a matter of minutes. I telekinetically balance the plate while I grab butter and orange juice out of the fridge. Everybody settles in, watching the sun through the window as it climbs higher in the sky.

I grip my coffee mug tightly, listening to the small talk that bounces between them. I keep silent, letting my mind wander.

Today is Saturday. It has been two months since Ultron's fall. I have been an Avenger for two months. The weeks that followed Pietro's death were hell. It was never ceasing pain that consumed my every moment.

There was an empty space. A gaping hole, like an organ torn from my body. It was in my head, too. I spent so much time reading him, his emotions. Feeling his thoughts blend with mine. When he died, I knew immediately. I felt his heart stop. I felt him ripped from my fingertips. The flow of energy was gone.

Now, I'm starting to fill that hole. Little by little. But it's a ravaged, mangled scar. It won't heal. It tears me apart every single day.

He'd want me to go on. This I am certain of.

"I have a meeting with Tony, today." Steve says. "Sam, you're welcome to tag along."

Wilson shakes him off. "No, I promised Nick I'd help whip some new S.H.I.E.L.D. recruits into shape.

"Nat?"

"Nah, I'm helping Clint with the kids." She smiles, but her eyes are shadowed. Steve tells me she's spent her nights watching the news, or tapping into radio feeds and endless files. Looking for Banner, he claims.

"Wanda?" He says, hesitantly. They tiptoe around me. I can see the reluctance in their eyes. The sympathy, maybe even pity. It incites a sort of tension that I wish didn't exist. I proved I was willing to help them, to become them. But they are afraid I'll snap. Because of Pietro. Because I'm definitely not the most approachable person in the world.

"No. I promised Vision I'd take him shopping." I tell him, forcing smile. And it's true.

Vision is the only one without that reluctance. I like to think he does not fear me. Maybe he does, but he's good at hiding it. It works out for both of us. I've found a friend in him, over these last few weeks.

Steve nods, thanks me for breakfast, and leaves to prepare for his meeting. I stay, taking sips of my coffee. Behind Natasha, Vision materializes through the wall.

"I apologize I did not join you sooner. However, I don't . . . eat." He says, giving everyone a warm smile. He takes a seat beside me.

"Do you still want to go out today, Viz?" I ask, gently.

"Yes, I think that would be a pleasant weekend activity." He agrees. "But, Wanda, we do need to take caution. I am not sure the public will be as accepting of me."

I nod. "We will take precautions, don't worry. We'll get you sunglasses and a long coat. We'll avoid busy stores." I say. We'll steer clear of the mall, that's for sure. On a Saturday, it'll be busier than I care to to endure. "We're going downtown, Viz."

The Avengers Facility is located in upstate New York, surrounded by old Stark Industries warehouses. Luckily for us, it was near a quaint little town with dozens of shops in the center. Plus, my goal isn't simply to shop. In reality, I detest shopping. I've never found much use for it. I just buy what I need and get out.

Yet, Vision needs to learn about regular people with regular lives. I think I need to learn a little about acting normal, too. I've had these abilities for the longest time, I need to taste the old world again. I need to escape HYDRA. I need to breathe fresh air for the first time in years.

"You guys have fun. I'll be heading to Clint's in a couple hours." She says, standing up. She takes her plate to the sink and goes, pausing to touch me on the shoulder.

"Thank you, Wanda." And it's genuine. Maybe I can find a friend in Natasha, too. And, if not a friend, an _ally_.

I return to my room, leaving Vision to his own devices.

I shower, and dress in a black leather jacket and jeans, trying not to draw attention to myself. After I'm finished, Viz helps me dig through closets until we come up with a long trench coat, a crimson scarf, and big sunglasses. The result is comical, but at least it keeps him hidden well enough. I suppress a laugh, and we bid Nat a final goodbye. We take the car I've been allowed to drive. It belongs to Tony.

I try to entertain Viz by flipping through the radio. He names every song and band or artist. I can see the computer inside him working to analyze the lyrics and beats, but then he smiles and the human in him appears, smeared into the mix. It's intriguing.

We arrive in less than thirty minutes.

Being near so many people, numerous thoughts invade my mind. I'm unconsciously reading everyone in the near vicinity. It's invigorating and haunting all at once, and I make myself focus, building my natural barriers, silencing the voices.

I set off down the street, trying to convey confidence in the way I walk. I have to remind myself they have no reason to fear me. I certainly don't look out of the ordinary. I'm hiding in plain sight, and it invigorates me. Vision is another story entirely. He keeps close to me, looking around quite nervously. He's concentrating on keeping feet on the ground.

"It's okay, Viz." I tell him. He nods, but he's preoccupied by a gaggle of teenage girls that strut by, giving his too-big sunglasses ugly stares.

I glare at the as they pass. I can read them, too. I can't help it. One girl picks up on it. She reacts as if I've slapped her, staring after me. She hurries to catch up with her friends, looking weary.

"Wanda." Vision says, forcefully, pulling me forward. "I advise you not to do that again. People will begin to grow suspicious." He reminds me.

"I know, Viz." I say, tiredly.

We pop in and out of stores. Viz picks out an array of formal sweaters and collared shirts. One woman at the cash register gives Vision a scowl, and again, I question my clothing choices for his disguise. Nevertheless, I shoot her a nasty glare.

We get lunch at a cafe on the corner, sitting outside. I get a sandwich, and Vision watches me eat with interest.A full glass of water sits, untouched, in front of him. His attentiveness to my chewing is quite unnerving. I find myself avoiding his gaze. The napkin on my lap is suddenly fascinating.

"You're company is delightful, Wanda." He says, after a while. Blood rushes to my cheeks. "Yours too." I tell him, swallowing hard. He looks away, watching a car as it speeds down the road. A dog, belonging to a passerby, starts barking as he passes Vision. The woman, obviously embarrassed, scoops it up. It strains against her pudgy hands, it's hackles risen, teeth bared.

"Animals are quite smart." Vision says, thoughtfully.

"Yeah?"

"They sense things that you humans are oblivious to."

I nod.

"Except you, of course. You sense everything." He tells me.

"Energy, mostly," I take a sip of my Diet Coke. "Energy surrounds everyone. Brainwaves, too, are energy. I can read that energy. Sometimes I get visions," I pause. "Fleeting images. Or flashes of emotion."

It is much more than that. Each individual brain has barriers and weaknesses and wounds. Each has a labyrinth of thoughts and images and sounds and memories. I can pick and choose, or I can let it fill me up. But It's like living another person's life. It's alien. I don't quite like opening myself up to people.

I can give the barriers a nudge, or I can attack the weaknesses. When I do it, I can feel the ebbs and flows of energy. That energy, it's as close as you come to a soul. To me, it's tangible. It's _readable._

"Pietro had a dog, when we were young." I say, changing the subject. "A mutt. A nasty thing, big and black and hairy." A flash of pain, but it dissipates in a matter of seconds. I try to Pietro out of my head, but fail. He lives there.

"Animals are honest." Vision says. "Humans are not."

"I suppose you're right." I tell him. "Animal minds have nothing of the complexity of human minds. Animals _react_. Humans _think._ And human minds are a much tougher nut to crack. There are many dark corners. But there are also many weaknesses."

Vision regards me with a thoughtful stare.

"I don't fear you, Wanda."

"I know." I lie. "You have no reason to."

Vision gives a sharp laugh.

"I wonder, Wanda, have you heard yourself speak? I would dare to say I have many reasons to fear you." He says.

I burst out laughing, because he's right. And because it's the closest thing to humor he's ever given me.

It gets me a smile.


	2. Wii

" _It's the eye of the tiger_

 _It's the thrill of the fight._

 _Rising up to the challenge of our rival"_

 __Sam stands on the couch, screaming into the microphone. Clint bangs on the plastic drums, hitting all the wrong notes, singing along. Steve stands on the floor, flaunting his guitar.

" _And the last known survivor_

 _Stalks his prey in the night_

 _And he's watchin us all with the EEEYYYYYEEEE"_

Sam leaps off the couch and lands on his feet beside Steve, who joins in.

" _. . . of the tiger"_

Nat meets my gaze from across the room. She rolls her eyes, though she's smiling.

Nick Fury dropped by earlier today, with his arms full of a mysterious cardboard box. He dropped it on the table, glowering at all of us.

"It's time you had some mother fucking bonding time. You need a team again, Steve. You'll thank me later." He left without another word. Steve opened it to find an old Wii game console, several controllers, and a stack of brand new games. He spent most of the afternoon trying to set it up, until Nat convinced him to call Tony. We had it running in two seconds after he showed up.

Clint and I went down to GameStop to get the stuff for Guitar Hero, something he'd be dying to play.

Tony walks in, carrying a couple beers.

"Jesus, you sound like Clint's harem of whining children." He says. Clint shoots him a look.

"Watch it!"

"Noted." Tony holds up his hands, tossing Nat a beer. He holds one out to me. "And one for our beloved Scarlet Witch?" He calls.

I wave him off. "No. I don't drink." I say, and I don't. I rely on my mind too much. God knows what would happen if I became intoxicated.

The boys pick another song, and Clint dissolves into a drum solo that results in a few choice words on his part and a broken drum stick. I suppress a laugh. Sam drops the mic and takes a beer. "I need a break."

"Awwwwww. Did the little birdy lose his voice?" Tony says.

"Shut your fat mouth, Iron Undies." Sam jests.

"Caw, caw!" Clint calls from his drum set.

"Alright, boys. Let me show you how it's done." Nat picks up the microphone. Steve puts on _Livin' On A Prayer._

Nat sings without a flaw, and Clint raises his eyebrows. "I didn't know you can sing."

"It's a . . . long lost hobby." She tells him.

They do a few more songs, before Nat flops back onto the couch, out of breath.

"What about another game?" Steve says, pulling the cardboard box closer to him. He paws through it, and holds up a disc. "Mario Kart?"

"Yes!" Sam calls, excitedly. A game controller is passed to me, and I take it. I fail horribly during the first race. The motions are too jerky, the divided screen too hard to see. By the third race, however, I'm slowly climbing to third place. Sam excels at this game, and Nat follows close behind. Clint can't seem to get the hang of it.

"Clint, don't your kids play this game? You should be a pro." I tease him. He waves me off. "Nah, my son talked us into getting a PS4. Now he thinks he's the king of Destiny and Far Cry and all this nonsense. Yeah, may need to rethink that one." He tosses his controller down in frustration, having lost his fourth race. Nat passes out another round of beers.

"Alright, game. Everytime we lap Clint, we drink. Deal?" She says.

"I'm in." Tony says, taking a deep breath. He selects Rainbow Road.

Nat groans. "Seriously? You're gonna be THAT guy?"

I suppress a giggle, readying myself. I lap Clint several times, with ease. I can't shake my third place score, trailing behind Sam and Nat.

Someone slides in another game. Super Smash Bros., I think. I'm Bowser. I find myself beating everyone. I'm quick with the controls. Nobody else seems to be paying attention. Tony and Nat take turns teasing Clint on his lack of skills.

By the end of our final battle, everyone is giggling and red in the face. My body is pleasantly warm, my eyes are heavy. There's not a single drop of alcohol in my body. It's their energy. I'm enveloped in a safety net. And I like it.


	3. Apologies

He is small and death. I approach his body cautiously. Nearing it, though, I cannot contain myself. Time slows. I'm feel like I'm struggling through a mud bog. When I reach him, I fall to my knees. There are no tears. There is only numbness, and a gaping hole. My fingers find his cheeks. My thumb travels over his skin, brushing the furrows and imperfections. All familiar, now so strange in death. Alien.

His eyes. They are coated in film, blank. I can't bring myself to close them.

My fingers find the dusty strands of blond hair that fall across his forehead, and suddenly, I'm grabbing a fistful. My head falls against his unmoving chest. Where I used to find the steady beat of his heart, I find silence.

No tears. I cradle his head in my lap, letting the silence and the numbness consume me.

I don't feel the engines humming beneath my body. I don't feel the motion of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s craft as it carries me from the rubble of my broken city. I don't feel anything at all. The numbness is like a wave, crashing over my head, blurring my vision, enveloping me in darkness. The weight of it squeezes the breath from my lungs. I can't feel, I can't think, I can't move . . .

Clint finds me lying beside Pietro, my hand enclosed in his. He takes a deep breath places his hand on my back. He speaks my name. I barely hear him. I barely lift my head. He pries my fingers from Pietro's and scoops me into his arms. I mumble a protest, but there is nothing left inside this shell of a body to put up a fight.

I'm hospitalized. An IV is placed in my arm. I am stitched up and made new again. My skin is scrubbed clean of the grime and blood. My hair is brushed out.

Clint visits me first. I can feel him as he walk in, even through my lidded eyes. I read his energy, but I don't push any farther. I don't have the strength. He's hesitant as he crosses the room, takes a seat by my bed. I pretend to sleep, forcing my breaths to become even. He takes my hand in both of his. A few minutes drag by. I open my eyes the tiniest bit. I am shocked to find Clint's face painted in tears.

All at once, it feels as if something is lodged deep inside my throat. I can't breath, I can't swallow. Some guttural, inhuman noise escapes my throat. Clint's eyes fixate on my face.

"Wanda?" He says, hoarsely. I meet his gaze, unable to keep the tears from spilling from my lashes. I have begun tremble uncontrollably. My grip tightens around his wrist, trying to keep myself grounded. His other hand wraps around my shoulder.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry . . ." His voice manages to escape through his tears. I want to tell him to go away. At the same time, I want, more than anything, for him to stay.

"I never meant for this to happen." He continues to speak to me.

With each passing moment, the tears increase in intensity. My body is on fire. My mind spinning with rage. Something is missing. The empty space inside me weighs a thousand tons. It tears into me like a thousand shards of glass.

My muscles coil, my body is racked with gasping, uncontrollable sobs.

Pietro was my unbounded sky. Now he's a rug ripped out from under me. A cornerstone blown to bits. A cascade of waves tossing me into the void. Relentless. Cruel.

Without a lifeline, I am nothing.

I cross some line of hysteria. I hear Clint's voice, as if through a long tunnel, calling for help. Footsteps, the prick of a needle, and the sensation of falling.


	4. Red

He was worried about her. Nobody should go that long without sleep. Nobody should deteriorate that quickly. Especially not her.

Natasha Romanoff was dying. Not physically.

He saw the bags under her reddened eyes, the constant stupor in which she walked. Slumped over as if carrying a heavy weight upon her shoulders. She tread lightly on the soft carpet floor. She was hesitant to make a sound. She was hesitant to let anyone know her secret.

Natasha Romanoff was dying.

He didn't push her. Only approached her once. She reacted as he'd guessed. Pushed him away before he could get more than five words out of his mouth. She put her walls up, made her face an unreadable mask. She walked away from him with a snarky comment and fake smile. He pretended to believe her.

He didn't.

He didn't hear her pass his door every night. He didn't hear her walk down to the control room. He didn't hear her constantly scanning the radio systems, the web, the database. He didn't hear the Black Widow searching.

Searching for Bruce Banner.

He watched from afar. Kept his distance. Noticed. Her silence during meals, her tortured eyes.

Natasha Romanoff was not only dying. She was breaking.

He saw the cracks. He saw old scars and new ones. He saw the mangled person this world had spit out before them. He saw the ghosts of people she's slaughtered. They lived in her eyes. He'd never noticed them before.

It was the first time he'd really noticed her. Maybe because her walls were up, but they were crumbling. Maybe because she'd been strong for much too long. Maybe he was using a window instead of mirror.

That window allowed him to see her. To really see her. He saw a chained monster. He saw darkness. He saw beauty and death and blood.

He saw the red smeared upon her. He saw the red in her hair and the red in her ledger, and wondered how she'd managed to hold on for so long.

He didn't know of another red.

He didn't know how to help her.

She was breaking. She was falling. She was hiding.

Natasha Romanoff was dying.


End file.
